2001-07-03 || 11:52 a.m.

|| in eleven hours, forty-four minutes, i will be a quarter of a decade old. ||

ahem. the office ladies threw me a birthday party this morning. cake and aram sandwiches and cheese, this is the ambrosia of the offices at suite 100. and now i feel nauseous. cake + turkey + my life flying before my eyes = upset stomach. heartburn. nervous twitches. i do not like the sound of twenty-five, just between you and me. although twenty-five is a very nice quaint number (i imagine it checkered. red and green.), i don't want to have anything to do with it. twenty-four is where it's at. twenty-four is multiple flings and living alone in albany and my favorite wee blue san francisco t-shirt and brown actionslacks worn three days at a time. it's hanging out on mcgee street with my boys and singing loud in the car on the freeway with m to petaluma and red hair and velcro shoes. road trips to canada and the northwest. and boise. riding bart to the dotcommy job and going out for smoke breaks every half hour. it's getting to like beer and getting a new boy and.

damn it.

and come tomorrow i will be bracketed in the twenty-five to thirty category and oh. that is just terrible. make some room everybody, i'm gonna throw a tantrum completely unfitting to a closer-to-thirty-than-twenty-year-old.

i know i'm going to lose it over this twenty-five business, i am. so much to do (grad school. novel. europe. lottery. long hair. the mastering of at least a few chords on some kind of instrument, just so that calvin johnson will take notice, finally, and worship me the way i worship him. for matters of cosmic universal balance, of course.) because twenty-six is absolutely unconscienable. (sorry.)

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